A stampede of bare feet shook the daycare center, causing meticulously-hung photos of plants and animals to clatter against otherwise barren, off-white walls. A safe distance away from the fourteen children running rampant, Keeley watched with tired eyes, body tucked uncomfortably into an old-fashioned mustard armchair salvaged years ago from one of the empty homes near the fertility center. They had always told her the members of the fertility tribe received the best treatment in all of Gator Bay, but as she felt the ancient springs beneath her dig into her thighs, she couldn’t help but disagree.
She wasn’t about to complain any time soon, though. She was lucky that her application to the open nannying position was accepted, and though her ears rang all day long with the echoes of high-pitched laughter and battle cries, she couldn’t help but smile to herself amidst the chaos. Among the children she was assigned to watch today, there were only two who had chosen to abstain from the favored activity of running in a circle screaming nonsense at each other. Sprawled out on the linoleum floor in the far back corner of the room, a pair of little girls scribbled vigorously with crayons and pastels on scrap pieces of old books, whispering behind cupped hands and giggling intermittently.
Keeley sighed as she watched one of the girls tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear, hazel eyes glittering with mischief. Sarah, Keeley’s daughter, was not only the spitting image of her, but the center of her universe. Glancing down at the reference sheet she was given this morning, Keeley searched the faces and names for the blonde child drawing with her daughter. When she eventually found the printed image that matched the real smile, she scanned the abbreviated notes beneath the hopeful portrait. Maisy Abrams, ten years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, cheerful disposition, plays nicely with others. Her eyes landed heavily on last word of her brief. Infertile. Eyes darting between the notes and the young blonde chirping with laughter in the corner, Keeley felt a twinge of guilt in the pit her stomach. As a fertile member of the fertility tribe, she had never had to face the terror of being ripped out of her tribe and relocated elsewhere, torn from the friends she had made in childhood and cast out as a failure. She was thankful Sarah inherited her fertility. Succumbing to her natural maternal instincts, Keeley settled on giving Maisy a memorable last few days of fertility tribe membership. After all, she was the first friend Sarah had made in a long time. The thought of having to watch her daughter once again revert into her usual quiet, unmotivated self after the unexpected loss of a friend made Keeley sick to her stomach. The least she could do was soften the blow this time around.
At the end of her shift, Keeley pulled Maisy and Sarah aside as the other children poured out through the daycare’s swinging glass doors. The movie theater was having one of its rare showings of a pre-war film tonight, and despite the part of her wondering if the content of the film would be too “grown-up” for them, Keeley thought the girls would enjoy a night out of the fertility center for once. With a little girl hanging on each arm, she led the way to the theater, reciting old poems and fairytales from memory to entertain them as they walked.
As usual, the theater was packed uncomfortably tight with warm bodies of various tribes. Though it was a rare sight, film screenings were one of the few things that brought the majority of Gator Bay together for a night of camaraderie. As Keeley wove her way through the thick crowd, she kept a close eye on the two girls with her, and once in their seats, fitted them with their respirators for the showing, avoiding eye contact with the other moviegoers. One of the few perks of her position at the fertility center was the access to the military tribe’s supplies, and it was common knowledge that almost all of the air in Gator Bay was rendered toxic to the lungs after the war. Albeit extremely slow to cause damage and almost unnoticeably toxic, but nonetheless, Keeley found a certain comfort in wearing her respirator in public places, and thought the girls deserved the same luxury. As the lights dimmed and the film stuttered to life, she squeezed the hands of each of the girls, earning an enthusiastic look from each in return. Though their smiles were hidden behind masks, their eyes glimmered with anticipation.
It only took a few moments in the flickering darkness before the night took a turn for the worse. The still air was suddenly shaken awake by the cacophony of countless voices, the stench of algae and wet dirt permeating the theater. Keeley yelped as she felt Maisy and Sarah ripped from her sides, their cries for help obscured by the clamor echoing throughout the theater’s interior. Between the aggressive chants of attack and the panicked screams of retreat, she found she recognized a single word being repeated: “lucky”. Dread coursed through her body as she made the immediate connections. The lake tribe was infamous for making sacrifices to their supposed god, Lucky, an albino alligator who dwelled deep below the surface of Dead Horse Bay, known religiously as “Lucky’s Domain”.
Young blood, they claimed, was a taste he cherished more than any other kind of offering.
Keeley’s head spun as she felt adrenaline take over, shouldering her way blindly through the hysterical crowd until the cool night air hit her skin. Tearing the respirator away from her face, she began frantically searching the surrounding area for any sign of the girls. Her eyes zeroed in on an abandoned handmade doll that she immediately recognized as Sarah’s, a birthday present from her late grandmother that she carried with her everywhere. Snatching it out of the wet grass as she broke into a sprint, Keeley took off in the direction of the lake, her voice growing more and more hoarse with each desperate call of the girls’ names. If anything happened to them--to Sarah--she would never be able to forgive herself.
She had heard that the lake tribe had never had an unsuccessful sacrifice before. Tonight, she would prove them wrong.
She wasn’t about to complain any time soon, though. She was lucky that her application to the open nannying position was accepted, and though her ears rang all day long with the echoes of high-pitched laughter and battle cries, she couldn’t help but smile to herself amidst the chaos. Among the children she was assigned to watch today, there were only two who had chosen to abstain from the favored activity of running in a circle screaming nonsense at each other. Sprawled out on the linoleum floor in the far back corner of the room, a pair of little girls scribbled vigorously with crayons and pastels on scrap pieces of old books, whispering behind cupped hands and giggling intermittently.
Keeley sighed as she watched one of the girls tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear, hazel eyes glittering with mischief. Sarah, Keeley’s daughter, was not only the spitting image of her, but the center of her universe. Glancing down at the reference sheet she was given this morning, Keeley searched the faces and names for the blonde child drawing with her daughter. When she eventually found the printed image that matched the real smile, she scanned the abbreviated notes beneath the hopeful portrait. Maisy Abrams, ten years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, cheerful disposition, plays nicely with others. Her eyes landed heavily on last word of her brief. Infertile. Eyes darting between the notes and the young blonde chirping with laughter in the corner, Keeley felt a twinge of guilt in the pit her stomach. As a fertile member of the fertility tribe, she had never had to face the terror of being ripped out of her tribe and relocated elsewhere, torn from the friends she had made in childhood and cast out as a failure. She was thankful Sarah inherited her fertility. Succumbing to her natural maternal instincts, Keeley settled on giving Maisy a memorable last few days of fertility tribe membership. After all, she was the first friend Sarah had made in a long time. The thought of having to watch her daughter once again revert into her usual quiet, unmotivated self after the unexpected loss of a friend made Keeley sick to her stomach. The least she could do was soften the blow this time around.
At the end of her shift, Keeley pulled Maisy and Sarah aside as the other children poured out through the daycare’s swinging glass doors. The movie theater was having one of its rare showings of a pre-war film tonight, and despite the part of her wondering if the content of the film would be too “grown-up” for them, Keeley thought the girls would enjoy a night out of the fertility center for once. With a little girl hanging on each arm, she led the way to the theater, reciting old poems and fairytales from memory to entertain them as they walked.
As usual, the theater was packed uncomfortably tight with warm bodies of various tribes. Though it was a rare sight, film screenings were one of the few things that brought the majority of Gator Bay together for a night of camaraderie. As Keeley wove her way through the thick crowd, she kept a close eye on the two girls with her, and once in their seats, fitted them with their respirators for the showing, avoiding eye contact with the other moviegoers. One of the few perks of her position at the fertility center was the access to the military tribe’s supplies, and it was common knowledge that almost all of the air in Gator Bay was rendered toxic to the lungs after the war. Albeit extremely slow to cause damage and almost unnoticeably toxic, but nonetheless, Keeley found a certain comfort in wearing her respirator in public places, and thought the girls deserved the same luxury. As the lights dimmed and the film stuttered to life, she squeezed the hands of each of the girls, earning an enthusiastic look from each in return. Though their smiles were hidden behind masks, their eyes glimmered with anticipation.
It only took a few moments in the flickering darkness before the night took a turn for the worse. The still air was suddenly shaken awake by the cacophony of countless voices, the stench of algae and wet dirt permeating the theater. Keeley yelped as she felt Maisy and Sarah ripped from her sides, their cries for help obscured by the clamor echoing throughout the theater’s interior. Between the aggressive chants of attack and the panicked screams of retreat, she found she recognized a single word being repeated: “lucky”. Dread coursed through her body as she made the immediate connections. The lake tribe was infamous for making sacrifices to their supposed god, Lucky, an albino alligator who dwelled deep below the surface of Dead Horse Bay, known religiously as “Lucky’s Domain”.
Young blood, they claimed, was a taste he cherished more than any other kind of offering.
Keeley’s head spun as she felt adrenaline take over, shouldering her way blindly through the hysterical crowd until the cool night air hit her skin. Tearing the respirator away from her face, she began frantically searching the surrounding area for any sign of the girls. Her eyes zeroed in on an abandoned handmade doll that she immediately recognized as Sarah’s, a birthday present from her late grandmother that she carried with her everywhere. Snatching it out of the wet grass as she broke into a sprint, Keeley took off in the direction of the lake, her voice growing more and more hoarse with each desperate call of the girls’ names. If anything happened to them--to Sarah--she would never be able to forgive herself.
She had heard that the lake tribe had never had an unsuccessful sacrifice before. Tonight, she would prove them wrong.